


A worthy replacement

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), Asexual Momota Kaito, Background Saiibo, Background Tenkaemaki, Bagels, But Kokichi is a vigilante, But then I remembered, Conversations, Developing Relationship, Gay Momota Kaito, Guitars, I was like writing tags and befuddled on what to add, It's line a throwaway line but it matters to me, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Injuries, Multi, Nonbinary Iidabashi Kiibo, SHSL Baker Momota Kaito, SHSL Botanist Amami Rantaro, SHSL Vigilante Oma Kokichi, Which I love for him, implied romantic feelings, there's nothing graphic, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Which means that he tends to have… a lot of food to deal with, most times. A guy can only eat so many brownies before needing a fucking break. Not that Momota made brownies this time around; it’s a Sunday, which meant he had a whole lot of free time on his hands, so he got up decently early (at around six in the morning) and set out to make some bagels. He doesn’t make bagels often. His first attempt was kind of a mess, even if in theory they shouldn’t be all that complicated to make. These ones are good, though, if the one he ate half of while it was still too hot was any indication. (The roof of his mouth hates him for it, but Momota isn’t exactly the most temperature-sensitive. He’ll get over it pretty quick.)That’s all good and well, like, Momota is proud of himself, but he really doesn’t think he has the power required to eat all these bagels. Which means it’s time for the other solution to his too-many-foods problem.Also known as shoving the shit he bakes down the throats of his classmates.---Momota shares some bagels with Amami, and then Ouma, when he arrives.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Momota Kaito, Amami Rantaro/Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi, Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71





	A worthy replacement

**Author's Note:**

> momota kaito: ultimate baker  
> amami rantaro: ultimate botanist  
> yonaga angie: ultimate dancer  
> akamatsu kaede: ultimate violinist  
> chabashira tenko: ultimate singer  
> harukawa maki: ultimate cellist  
> shinguuji korekiyo: ultimate calligrapher  
> saihara shuichi: ultimate novelist  
> ouma kokichi: ultimate vigilante  
> iidabashi kiibo: ultimate makeup artist  
> yumeno himiko: ultimate heiress  
> shirogane tsumugi: ultimate journalist  
> toujou kirumi: ultimate doctor  
> hoshi ryoma: ultimate percussionist  
> gokuhara gonta: ultimate veterinarian  
> iruma miu: ultimate marine biologist
> 
> ^full list of talents

Since Hope’s Peak Academy has such a fascination with talent development, Momota spends a whole lot of time baking.

Generally speaking, this isn’t such a bad thing. Momota likes baking. He’s a baker. It’s what he does. They don’t call him the _Super High School Level Baker_ for nothing. (But ugh, what a mouthful. Least he’s not a vigilante like Ouma; sometimes people call him the _Super High School Level_ _Illegal Crime Fighter--_ as in someone who fights crimes illegally, not, like, someone who fights illegal crimes-- and that one’s just too much.) But even if the act of baking in itself isn’t tedious, it’s kinda tough just… having a seemingly endless supply of baked goods at all times and never knowing what to do with them.

See, if Momota owned a bakery, this wouldn’t be such a consistent problem. He’d bake shit every morning and then sell it throughout the day. Sometimes he enjoys a little spontaneity, but there’s definitely an appeal to working on a consistent schedule. It’s nice, too, when he’s baking, to know that the food he makes is actually going to be eaten. And to an extent, that _is_ the case; every Saturday, Momota spends morning classes baking shit that a couple faculty members then take out to food banks and other donation spots in the area. It’s a good use of his time, and of his baked goods.

The only thing is, Saturday isn’t the only day that Momota spends baking. And as a matter of principle he’s kind of against the practice of giving poor kids day-olds, like it’s some kind of handout. Not that his food is ever _bad_ in the days that follow, there’s just something about biting into a cheesy bun that’s only a couple hours old that’s more… mmm, Momota wants to say _emotional,_ than munching on a stale day-old. There’s a value in both, but Momota would prefer to do the first, if possible, at all times.

Which means that he tends to have… a _lot_ of food to deal with, most times. A guy can only eat so many brownies before needing a fucking break. Not that Momota made brownies this time around; it’s a Sunday, which meant he had a whole lot of free time on his hands, so he got up decently early (at around six in the morning) and set out to make some bagels. He doesn’t make bagels often. His first attempt was kind of a mess, even if in theory they shouldn’t be all that complicated to make. These ones are good, though, if the one he ate half of while it was still too hot was any indication. (The roof of his mouth hates him for it, but Momota isn’t exactly the most temperature-sensitive. He’ll get over it pretty quick.)

That’s all good and well, like, Momota is proud of himself, but he really doesn’t think he has the power required to eat all these bagels. Which means it’s time for the _other_ solution to his too-many-foods problem.

Also known as shoving the shit he bakes down the throats of his classmates.

Momota washes his hands after packing all the bagels into a tupperware container, then pulls out his phone, humming a little as he scrolls through the most recent texting conversations he’s had. He’s always down to swing by and harass Harumaki with some food-- that girl has a _fast_ metabolism, so she kinda needs it-- but from the look of it, Harumaki’s in her lab, which means she’s playing the cello right now, and is thus not to be disturbed. Momota doesn’t _think_ she’d respond with violence if he cut her off in the middle of a song, but when you’re not sure and the subject is potential violence, it’s best to err on the side of caution.

From Momota’s student handbook, it seems like Akamatsu is… also, in Harumaki’s lab.

...Good for them! Good for them. They deserve it. Let’s go lesbians. But that counts Akamatsu out of bagel giving, which is lame. Maybe sometime later after Momota gets through the initial bulk of bagel (heh) he’ll drop by and menace them. Harumaki _probably_ won’t attack him with Akamatsu there. At the very least if she tries Akamatsu will be able to talk her out of it. It’ll be fine.

(Momota doesn’t really think Harumaki is going to attack him, of course, he trusts her not to hurt him like that. He just knows her practice time is important to her and far be it for him to get in between any lesbian bonding on this fine Sunday morning.)

Hmm. Who else? There’s Shuichi-- Shuichi is actually at the top of his chatrooms, considering that they were texting pretty recently about the book he’s working on right now-- but it seems as though Shuichi is out by the front gates. It takes Momota a moment to puzzle out what Shuichi’s doing there, but when he spots Iidabashi’s little icon moving through the courtyard, he grins. Oho. Okay. So the kids are feeling gay today. Right on. If Shuichi wants to go on a date or whatever this is with Iidabashi (who he still won’t tell Momota if he’s going out with or not) then all the power to him.

Okay. Stop spying on your sidekick and his datemate. Momota turns back to his phone, looking through other more recent text messages. He’s kind of not in the mood to watch Iruma make sex jokes about donut holes right now. Not that Momota is _ever_ particularly in the mood for that (sex repulsion be like that) but some days are better than others. Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he has a DM open with Iruma so near to the top of his list. He clicks on the conversation, out of curiosity, and then closes it, sighing. Like, Momota gets that she’s a marine biologist, but there are some jokes you can just not make to the guy who specialise in food handling, y’know?

Moving on.

Hnnn. Not Hoshi. That’s still awkward. Momota doesn’t think he could swing by Hoshi’s lab right now even if he wanted to, if only because--

Oh! Amami! Momota stops on their DM, his thumb hovering over the screen, humming softly. The last time they texted was a couple days ago, when Amami was on a plane back from the Amazon. Technically he’d been back in a place with cell reception since returning to the city from the rainforest, but dicking around and texting while you’re in an Uber in a foreign country is never really the move. Amami had texted Momota to send him several of the pictures he took from within the forest, of different plants that he was studying there, as well as the sunset on several different occasions. There’s something about the view you get in a place like that that’s totally… unimaginable, from an dorm room in Tokyo. Momota likes getting the pictures.

And it’s pretty nice to have an excuse to talk with Amami, too. Guy’s pretty distant. He travels a lot. Kind of has to, really. Amami is the _Super High School Level Botanist,_ and his knowledge of a lot of the native species in Japan is already pretty expansive, so he fucks off to check out foreign species pretty regularly. (Though he does occasionally travel down to Aokigahara by Mount Fuji to study the plants there, too.) Actually, if Momota is being honest, he’s pretty sure that Amami has… an ulterior motive, for traveling so often, but if Momota’s hunch is correct, Amami is pretty good at hiding it. He’s laid back.

Just, secretive, too. It sort of makes Momota want to get closer.

_Regardless,_ Momota opens up his student handbook and sees that Amami is hanging out in the greenhouse. Pretty typical spot for the guy to spend his time. It’s not where he does his research, or anything (he has a lab for that) but Momota figures if you’re as passionate about plants as Amami seems to be, places with a lot of them are probably your go-to spots. Especially in Tokyo. The courtyard is pretty green, all things considered, but you can only spend so much time hanging out under the cherry trees before looking for enrichment.

At least, that’s what Momota thinks would happen, if he was a botanist. He’s not, so he can kind of just take the plants here at face value. But god knows he’d get bored if all he could make on a day-to-day were chocolate chip cookies.

Momota puts down his student handbook and shoots Amami a text, leaning back against the counter.

_[Hey, man, are you busy? Just finished a batch of bagels and am looking to dump some on people]_

Amami’s reply comes in pretty quick. He’s pretty reliable about answering direct messages when he’s in town. Group chats are another story, but in Amami’s defense, the class group chat is pretty chaotic, so who can blame him, really?

_[always happy to get food you made dumped on me]_

_[I’m in the greenhouse if you wanna come here]_

Momota considers saying, _Yeah, I know,_ but decides against it. Not necessarily because he thinks Amami would be weirded out by it-- ehh, maybe a little-- but more because it’s just kind of a creepy thing to say, generally speaking, even if it’s totally valid to be using the student handbooks to be looking for people. After a moment of contemplation, Momota sends Amami a sunglasses emoji and then tucks his phone and student handbook away, picking up the tupperware container from the counter and slipping out of his lab. He doesn’t really see the point in Hope’s Peak Academy investing in a whole other separate kitchen for him to bake in-- it just feels needlessly expensive when they may or may not have another baker here after Momota graduates-- but he’s definitely not gonna complain. Kinda nice to know that everyone’s where he put it.

Plus, y’know, it means Momota isn’t constantly monopolising the kitchen in the name of talent development, which is always a plus, really. He can cook just fine-- he can cook _well,_ actually, Momota is just good in the kitchen as a general thing-- but cooking for upwards of forty eight students every day sounds like exhausting. No thanks.

Down the hall. Lucky for Momota, his lab, which is on the fifth floor, is on the same floor as the greenhouse. He hums a little bit as he walks, listening to the sound of his slippers padding against the tiles. He’s sort of got a heavy step, huh. Wouldn’t do him much good in a life or death situation. It’s a good thing (and this is the second time Momota has thought this today) he’s not a vigilante like Ouma. His footsteps would probably get him killed in one or two of those situations.

Not that Momota actually knows what being the _Super High School Level Vigilante_ entails. Ouma just comes back to the academy beat up often enough that Momota gets the general idea. Stopping unsafe people by doing unsafe things. And Ouma’s such a _little_ guy too… light on his feet, for sure, but sometimes Momota wonders if--

Oh, there’s the greenhouse. Momota knocks, then opens the door, poking his head in before entering. Amami isn’t sitting by the entrance, and with his green hair it’s kind of hard to find him among the overgrowth in here. Eventually, Momota places him near the shed, sitting cross legged by a patch of brown, white, and red flowers, a guitar resting on his lap. A smile crosses over Momota’s expression, and he lets the door fall shut behind him, picking his way down the tile path (there are a number of vines snaking out in his path, so he steps carefully) and over to Amami.

Despite Momota’s footsteps being a bit heavy, Amami doesn’t appear to hear his approach. That’s probably to do with the fact that he’s actively playing the guitar right now, his eyes closed, his head slightly bent over the instrument. He isn’t singing, but he’s humming under his breath, a song that Momota doesn’t recognise. It’s nice, though, a good melody. And Amami’s voice is pleasant. Momota watches him for a moment, with an expression that is maybe a little bit homosexual (only a little bit! Momota is in the _fucking_ closet) then brings himself closer, dropping down to sit by the other boy, close enough that their shoulders brush as he does so.

Amami’s eyes open, now. The green hue sparkles a little in the artificial sunlight filtering through this room. There’s what looks like a moth resting on Amami’s shoulder, but he doesn’t appear to have noticed. Or if he has, he doesn’t seem to care all that much. And the moth seems content to stay where it is. Momota can understand that. Amami’s shoulder looks like a good enough resting place.

“Hey,” Amami’s lips curl into a friendly smile. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Momota grins, putting the tupperware down between them and leaning back a bit, resting one of his hands on the ground. A bit of moist soil from the flower beds behind him has spilt over onto the tiles. Momota can feel it underneath his palm. But he doesn’t move his hand. “I didn’t know you played the guitar.”

“Not that well, mind you, I can do chords,” Amami smirks a bit, his eyes flickering down to his instrument. It’s an acoustic guitar, dark brown, and a bit worn looking, but shiny. Well-maintained. (At least to Momota’s untrained eye.) “I’d feel like a bit of a moron trying to play this thing in front of Akamatsu-san or Harukawa-san.”

“Think comparing yourself to either of them is setting kind of a high standard for your guitar skills,” Momota says, chuckling. “They don’t call those two the _Super High School Level Violinist_ and _Cellist_ for nothin’, y’know.”

“You might have a point,” Amami admits, shrugging his right shoulder, the one his guitar isn’t resting on. He shuffles a bit in his place, removing the guitar from his lap and resting it back in the open case beside him, pulling the picks from around his forefinger and thumb and returning those to a small zipper pocket on the side as well. He doesn’t zip up the case itself, though. Maybe he’ll play some more, later. “Think I’ll save these for when the school finally has that talent show they’ve been teasing since last school year.”

“What, the one where we’re not allowed to do anything related to our talents?” Momota folds his legs and draws them up to his chest, grinning wider as he tilts his cheek into his left knee. Amami’s gaze is bright as it flickers between Momota and his task. “That one’s more of a handicap for some people than others, y’know. Makes it so Chabashira can’t go up there and sing some _Arashi_ tune,” being, as Chabashira is, the _Super High School Level Singer,_ “but like, what’s Shuichi gonna do? Write a book?”

Amami giggles, removing his hands from his guitar case and reaching for the tupperware that Momota brought in. “Look, I didn’t make those guidelines, I get no say in whether or not you’re allowed to bake a pie right there on stage.” He pulls off the lid and selects a bagel, humming appreciatively. Momota imagines that Amami had that response because the bagels are still warm. Warm bagels are the good shit. “I think it’s just to level the playing field so kids with performance-based talents don’t completely tank the competition. If Akamatsu-san, Harukawa-san, and Chabashira-san did a collaboration, they’d sweep the floor with the rest of us.”

See, Momota kind of wishes the three of them would do a collaboration for reasons completely unrelated to any talent shows. Watching all three of his best friends pine for each other is agonising. Momota really hates being a wingman sometimes. No point in talking about that with Amami, though. “Be kind of nice to see, though, huh? Think the three of them would work well together.”

“I think so too,” Amami smiles, softly, tilting his head to the side. He passes the tupperware back over to Momota, and Momota uses his non-dirt hand to sift through the bagels until he finds the other half of the one he ate half of while it was too hot. From taking a bite of it, he finds that it tastes significantly better when it’s not burning the top of his tongue. Amami lets out another one of those appreciative little hums, his eyelids fluttering a bit, and Momota feels himself smile.

He’s gotten a _fuck-ton_ of validation when it comes to his baking over the last year and a half, but regardless, Momota asks, “Good?

“You didn’t get that talent of yours for nothing,” Amami praises warmly, and Momota ducks his head a bit, but smiles wider. _That’s_ the serotonin. This is the best part of giving people his food, really, seeing their reactions to it. Momota will never get sick of this feeling, even if it’s coming from someone who he’s fed over and over and over again. “Thanks for offering. I was feeling a bit lonely this morning.”

“Yeah?” Momota looks up, at that, as he breaks off a piece of his bagel half and rolls it into a ball. (As you do.) “Spending too much time alone lately?”

“I’m always spending too much time alone,” Amami chuckles, then averts his gaze, as though he feels like that was too much to say. Momota keeps his own gaze light and regular, if a touch understanding. He knows the feeling. It’s nice baking with company, but there’s only so many times you can drag a pal into the kitchen to watch you make cinnamon rolls. Standing up for hours at a time without anything to do with your hands can get tiresome. Momota gets that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t get a little bit sad sometimes when his only company is the food. “Think I’m just a little bummed after my trip a couple days ago.”

Amami seems a bit tense. Momota decidedly pulls his gaze off of the other boy entirely, opting instead to peer across the greenhouse at the chicken coop, listening to the faint sound of them clucking across the space. It’s wild to Momota that there are actually chickens living in this building. Who takes care of them, anyway? Amami? Maybe there’s a schedule for it? Momota should ask some people. For now, though, Momota brings his thoughts back to the current conversation, looking up at the ceiling. “Anythin’ in particular happen?”

  
“No,” Amami pauses. “That’s sort of the problem.” When Momota looks over at him, he laughs a little, sounding anxious, one of his hands (the one that isn’t holding his bagel) coming up to waves dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a productive trip. I always love going back to the Amazon. It’s just…”

“Got an ulterior motive?” Momota guesses-- and he wouldn’t’ve, would’ve left sharing that sort of information up to Amami’s discretion, just… it was on his mind earlier, is all, and now that he’s thinking about it he doesn’t think he’s going to stop thinking about it, not at this moment, at least. If Amami is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. If anything he just looks mildly uncomfortable, and that tempts Momota to withdraw the question, but before he can open his mouth, Amami is speaking again.

“You could call it that,” he admits, tossing his head a little. He looks at Momota, his expression curious, if still a bit on-edge. “Do you have any siblings, Momota-kun?”

“Nah,” Momota smiles a little wryly, lifting his dirt hand to rub the back of his neck. He’ll shower after this, it’s fine. “I’m an only child. Think it kinda shows in the way I behave.”

Amami chuckles, but then averts his gaze, his expression shifting, seeming almost… disappointed. “You probably wouldn’t get it, then,” he says, softly, his free hand slipping through his hair. (Momota is momentarily distracted by this; Amami’s curls seem extremely soft.) “But the trip didn’t work out the way that I wanted it too, is all. I’ll get over it. I’m just glad you’re here right now.” He looks up again, smiling, and Momota thinks it’s a genuine smile, if a touch bracing.

And like, Momota wants to say, _well, you don’t know that I wouldn’t get it,_ or, _you can tell me anyway, if you want, I can be compassionate without relating,_ but he doesn’t want to push the subject. It sort of feels like there should be some sort of give and receive when it comes to sharing sensitive information, especially if it’s got Amami so down in the dumps like he is now. If Momota’s got nothing to give-- at least, nothing he feels comfortable giving, at this moment-- then he probably shouldn’t expect Amami to either.

  
It usually wouldn’t bother him, the lack of reciprocity. It’s not like Amami is supposed to help Momota. It’s not like _anybody_ is supposed to help Momota. Any problems that Momota faces are miniscule compared to what his classmates go through, from what he’s heard. He can only imagine what kind of issue is on Amami’s mind, right now. Momota doesn’t mind holding secrets for people, even if they’re not holding any of his secrets in return.

Just, in this instance, it feels… mmm, almost like being dishonest with Amami. He’s not sure how to put it. Like if he expects that sort of vulnerability, he should give it in return. Not that it should be an exchange or anything-- that’s not _really_ how mutually beneficial relationships work, they should never be transactional-- but vulnerability is a two-way street, that’s all. “Glad to be here,” Momota says, after a while, and smiles back, eating a good amount of his bagel half. He’s about to change the subject to something less uncomfortable for Amami, to some kind of conversation topic that doesn’t involve anything personal, on either of their ends, but then the door to the greenhouse slams open.

“H-- _Hewwo?”_ Momota recognises it as Ouma’s voice, even with the face baby-talk, and lets out a small sigh, turning his gaze over to the entrance. As ever, Ouma’s got that checkerboard facemask of his hanging around his neck, and his hair tied back into a high ponytail, despite the several shorter purple strands that are freed of the style and allowed to frame his features. His eyes are all wide, and he flutters his eyelashes innocently, scanning the room as though looking for other people. He’s just messing around, though; Momota is willing to bet that Ouma spotted the two of them the second he opened the door. The dude’s observant. Probably helps him in being a vigilante. “Is anyone thewe?”

“Hewwo,” Amami calls, lifting his his head and offering Ouma a pleasant smile. “Unfortunately Barack Obama isn’t present, but we’ve got a container of bagels here in place of him.”

“Hmmmm,” Ouma’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing, and he peers over, wrinkling his nose a bit. Momota notes that he’s standing favouring his right leg at the moment. Probably to do with whatever he was out doing last night. That does beg the question as to why he’s up on the fifth floor, as opposed to chilling out in his dorm and letting the injury rest, but Ouma seems to be doing alright aside from that. (Not that he’s not good at hiding injuries, or anything, but Momota thinks it’d become pretty obvious pretty quickly if he was doing _too_ terrible.) “A worthy replacement. Better than what those _losers_ east of us got going, anyhoo!” He bounds over, again favouring his right leg, and then seats himself gracefully by Amami and Momota, folding his legs. When he rests his right foot on his left knee, Momota notes a ring of bruises around his bare ankle where his pant leg rides up.

Then he averts his gaze. Guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. “America is out west,” Momota points out, instead, frowning as he passes the tupperware over to Ouma. He wrinkles his nose, too, when Ouma picks through the bagels, touching nearly all of them with his fingers before selecting one that he deems adequate. What a brat. “Not east.”

“Oh! Momota-chan is right,” Ouma giggles. “Silly me, I forgot that the world is flat! That way America can only be west of us, not east in the other direction.”

Momota groans. “The world is _not_ flat, you fucker.” He snorts a little bit, though, watching Ouma shove a good third of the bagel into his mouth, his cheeks poofing out with the amount of food he’s trying to cram into them. He looks like a chipmunk. It’s a bit cute, in that way Ouma is often a bit cute whenever he’s not opening his mouth and spewing nonsense. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Breakfasht ish for loshers,” Ouma says, through a mouthful of bagel, “n’ I don’ eat when Momota-chan ishn’t there.” He swallows, and brushes a crumb off his cheek, though he misses a couple on his chin. “I need my beloved to be there to make sure the food isn’t poisoned, y’know? There’s a whooole bunch of baddies who would love to see me six feet under! Or cops,” Ouma nods seriously, then says in English, “All cops are bastards.”

“It’s true,” Amami agrees, reaching over to brush away the crumbs that Ouma missed with his thumb. If Ouma is flustered by this action (which Momota would be) he doesn’t show it, though he does bristle a little bit at the touch before relaxing. “About the cops, I mean. Momota-kun misses too many communal meal-times working on his talent for you to stay committed to that. Don’t know if I can safely recommend it.”

_“Well,_ then Amami-chan is gonna have to check the food for me instead,” Ouma huffs. “Do you want me to die, Amami-chan?”

“Not even slightly,” Amami smiles. “I’ll have to pick up the slack for Momota-kun, then. No other choice.”

“I don’t even test the food when I _am_ around!” Momota protests. “Ouma, why would the faculty at a school that brought you in to _help_ with your vigilante business be trying to poison you?”

“There’s such a thing as infiltrating, y’know,” Ouma remarks, cooly, picking off another piece of bagel. “Momota-chan is sooo simple if he thinks that everyone at this school is who they claim to be!” He giggles. “That’s not true, of course. I’m actually immune to all poisons, so it wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’m like Superman, y’know? But on the inside. My tummy is super bulletproof.”

“Man…” Momota finds himself chuckling, despite everything, shaking his head. “What got you here, anyways? Were you that bored?”

“What? Is it so wrong for me to want to spend time with my beloveds?” Ouma pouts. Momota doesn’t bother objecting to the endearment; if Ouma was going to listen to Momota’s objections about being called _beloved_ he would’ve done it back in the first month of their first year. It’s been a long year and a half at this academy.

“I don’t know if either of us would fault you for that,” Amami says mildly, “I think Momota-kun was more curious as to whether that was all.”

Ouma huffs a little. “No trust in me, from either of you. This is why Mom always said to stay away from twunks. They’ll do nothing but break your heart.” He breaks into a smile, though, a moment later, tilting his head to the side. “Oh, but, y’know, I put sooo much energy into climbing the stairs yesterday night, and my ankle hurts like hell! I was actually wondering if one of you would help me downstairs since I don’t have a key to this school’s stupid elevator!” He giggles, then adds, “Kidding, I was actually just gonna jump from the window.”

...That sounds somewhat unsustainable. Momota shakes his head, saying, “Dude, don’t sweat it,” at the same time as Amami says, “No worries, Ouma-kun, I don’t mind,” and then they look at each other, laughing slightly. Amami’s sheepish smile makes Momota feel a little bit warm. Just a touch.

“I can carry you down,” Momota tells Ouma, once he’s sure that he won’t be interrupting Amami again. “You could’ve just texted someone last night, y’know, I’m sure either of us would’ve sprung for it. Or Gonta,” Momota adds, as an afterthought.

Puffing out his cheeks, Ouma complains, “You normies don’t get it! I was enjoying my evening up here! I didn’t _need_ to come back down then. I have no problem asking civilians for help, y’know, I’m not one of _those_ heroes.”

Somehow, Momota feels as though that isn’t really what the problem was. If he looks closely, he can see a slight pink tint in Ouma’s cheeks. More likely, Ouma was too embarrassed to ask for help last night, and was waiting for someone to come upstairs to ask. Momota understands the feeling. He doesn’t like reaching out for help, either. It’s uncomfortable. And based on the way Amami sort of dodged around their conversation just now, he’s not so big on it himself. So maybe the three of them have something in common.

“Makes sense,” Amami says, with a smile that suggests to Momota he picked up on Ouma’s embarrassment as well. “Have anywhere to be this morning? Or are you okay to spend some time with us for a bit?”

“I have a _tight schedule,”_ Ouma says sharply, bristling, as though he’s offended. He whips out one of his arms with a flourish, making a show of checking his wrist for a watch that he doesn’t have. “But, since I’m so in love with the both of you, I _guess_ I can make an exception. Just for you.” He sniffs a little bit, tossing his head. “So you better not go and get boring!”

“We don’t exist to amuse you,” Momota grumbles, despite himself. Surprisingly, Ouma giggles at that, snatching up another bagel. (He’s not even finished with the first.)

“Oh, I know,” he beams. “You do that just fine without trying, y’know? Or else I’d’ve texted Shinguuji-chan or something.” Momota suspects that’s a lie. Ouma doesn’t seem to like Shinguuji much. But he won’t call that one out. “Can Amami-chan play that thing? Or is it just there for decoration?” Ouma asks, turning his head towards Amami.

Amami smiles, then finishes off his bagel, dusting the crumbs off his hand and reaching over for his instrument. “Wanna fuck around and find out?”

“That’s my _favourite_ thing to do,” Ouma chirps.

Momota hums, nodding his head in agreement, and settles down a little bit, resting his chin on his knees. This is nice. Really nice, actually. When Amami starts playing his guitar, Ouma doesn’t say anything, and in the quiet, his presence is… startlingly pleasant. Maybe it’s just easier to see this side of him because they’ve been classmates for a longer while now, but it’s nice. This all is nice. Momota is glad he came over here.

And Amami’s singing voice, when he starts to use it, is rich, like velvet, and makes Momota feel like he’s right at home.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm calling this one my "self indulgent/aesthetically pleasing talent swap au" and yes there are too many musical talents i really do not care
> 
> ...let me know if you want to see more content for this talentswap, or if there are any characters you're particularly interested in. i'd love to write about them


End file.
